Just A Business Transaction
by gingerkitten2784
Summary: After our favorite detective says something insensitive to Molly (yet again), she decides to change the parameters of their relationship. No longer friends, simply two people exchanging services. Premise based on another fic I had read some months ago.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello all. This is my first Sherlock fic. I had read a different story some months back with similar premise (unfortunately, I've not been able to find it again), and felt inspired. I've cut the story in an odd place, but I intend to upload the next chapter soon. Hope you all enjoy it. Thanks!**_

Sherlock enters the lab at St. Bart's the same way he always has - as if he owns the place. Samples in hand, he scans the room for any sign of life. He sees no one, but hears a soft sobbing from behind a counter.

Molly.

Knowing he'll have to deal with her one way or another, he follows the sound of her crying and finds her sitting on the floor, leaning against a counter.

"Molly. Are you alright?"

"Sherlock! I'm - I'm fine." she says, wiping away a tear.

"Obviously not. Your boyfriend broke up with you this morning. Didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"Well. Not a boyfriend, as such. We had been seeing each other - casually - and - I though it was going well, until I saw his text message this morning."

Molly hands her phone over to Sherlock, and he reads the message.

_hey baby. i dont think i wanna c u anymore. met dis hot chick tha bar 2night, & she's freakin awesome in tha sack. u're great wit ur tongue & everythin, but u've got a small chest, a flat ass, & ur cat creeps me out. i rly think this chick is a better deal 4 me. peace - brian_

When Molly looks away to grab another tissue, he scrolls up to see Brian's previous messages.

_hey sexy...dtf?_

_what r u wearing?_

_that was so awesome. u free again 2night?_

_feelin lonely. wanna cum over?_

"Americans." he mutters.

"How did you know?"

"Between the poor spelling, atrocious grammar, and improper use of the word 'awesome', it was obvious. Really Molly. First, Moriarty. Now a shallow, half-witted American. Where do you find them?"

She starts crying again.

"You know, you can be just as cruel as Brian."

Sherlock reads the text message again, and changes his tack.

"Molly, I -"

"You come in here, and say these awful things to me, and then expect me to just give you whatever you want. That's not what normal people do. I mean, if you even pretended to be human once in awhile, that would help."

Her rant stops when she looks at his face. Instead of the usual look of haughty superiority, he looks genuinely concerned.

"You're right, Molly. And I'm sorry. I'll be right back."

Before she can respond, he is up off the floor, and out of the lab. A few minutes later he returns, coffee and chocolate scone in hand.

"Here. These should help." Sherlock says, handing them to her.

She sips the coffee and smiles slightly. "It's perfect. Thank you. But why the chocolate scone?"

"Don't all women like chocolate?" he asks, looking rather puzzled. "That's what John gives his girlfiends when he has messed something up. He always keeps a box in the flat, just in case."

Molly snickers. "I don't doubt it."

"There. See? Feeling better already, aren't we?" he asks, wiping a tear from her cheek.

"Yes. Much. Thank you."

"Right. So, up off the floor. We have some tests to run." Sherlock says, grasping her hands, and helping her upright.

"Is that the only reason you were nice to me? To get me to help you run some bloody tests?"

Molly practically spits the words at him.

"No. Not the only reason." he says sheepishly. "But now that you're better, we can get on with the work."

"You really just don't get it, do you?"

"Apparently not. Just tell me what you want me to do, so I can run these tests." replies an irritated Sherlock.

"I want you to be nice to me for reasons other than your own self-interest. But you can't, can you?" she shouts.

"No."

"Fine then. We're not friends. This is just a business transaction. You want something from me. What do I get in return?"

Slightly taken aback by quiet little Molly Hooper suddenly standing up to him, Sherlock just stares for a moment.

"What do you want?" he asks.

After a beat, she responds: "A kiss."

"A kiss?"

"Yes. Not just a peck on the cheek. Right on the lips. And you have to make me believe you mean it."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"If you want these tests run. You had better try."

"Alright. Alright. Just give me a moment." replies a very irritated Sherlock.

He turns away for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand. After a deep breath, he turns back to Molly and pulls her in close with one arm around her waist. His other hand tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear, and gently guides her face toward his. With their lips just inches apart, he pauses for a moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello Everyone! Thank you for the lovely reviews. It really motivated me to get working on this one. I am not really a writer, so it often takes me weeks to finish a chapter. Hopefully it's up to snuff. Two things: 1) I have a few more chapters in mind for this story, so I hope you'll stick with me and read them. 2) The band Molly is listening to is an Australian group called Clairy Browne and the Bangin Rackettes. They are highly recommended. Thanks for reading!**

When Sherlock brings her in close, Molly's eyes flit closed. She wants to commit as many details to memory as possible. The coarse wool of his jacket under her fingers. The warmth of his body against her. His fingertips in her hair; and his short, sharp intake of breath before their lips touch. When they meet, the kiss is gentle.

Initially, Sherlock simply presses his lips against hers. Then, feeling that more is required of him, he lightly takes her top lip between his, followed by the bottom one. Pulling back slightly, he hears a small squeak emanate from Molly's slightly parted lips. Despite his efforts to live as a being guided by intellect alone, such a reaction from a woman (even Molly), strokes the male ego. Something deep within Sherlock bubbles up and plants an involuntary smirk on his face.

When their lips meet Molly feels an incredible sensation surge through her body. Every nerve ending vibrates and every muscle turns to jelly. As he pulls away, she exhales with a small moan that she hopes Sherlock won't hear. A foolish hope to be sure. Eyes still closed, Molly braces herself with a hand on the counter, waiting for her mind to regain control over the rest of her.

"Is that sufficient?" Sherlock asks, managing to sound even haughtier than usual.

"Um. Y-Yes. That'll do nicely...Thank you." Molly replies, feeling the heat rise on her cheeks.

"Good. Now can we get to work?"

"Certainly." she says taking one last deep breath.

They run the tests in silence. Sherlock, thoroughly engrossed in the task at hand; and Molly, far too embarrassed to even look at him.

Before long, the detective has left. Molly makes her way to a desk chair and practically hyperventilates. Without a handy paper bag, she breathes into her blouse until she feels calmer. Then she notices her top no longer smells like her fabric softener. Now it has a musky scent, rather masculine.

_Oh God. I smell like him. I am never washing this shirt again._

Looking down at the blouse, she notices stains of various hues with uncertain origins. When one works in a morgue, the question 'What's that greenish splotch there?' can have far more answers that anyone would care to consider.

_OK. Maybe just one wash._

She manages to finish her work and clean up just as Stamford walks in to begin the night shift. Bundled up in her winter coat, and extra long knit scarf, she pops in her ear buds and heads for the tube. On the playlist, a new album by and Australian band with a retro 60s girl-group sound. While strolling down the sidewalk, some of the lyrics catch her attention:

**_I thought about it long (Ah Ooo Ah Ooo Ah Ooo)_**  
**_I thought about it ha-a-a-a-ard_**  
**_I think I'm gonna change his mind (Ah Ooo Ah Ooo Ah Ooo)_**  
**_I want him in my hair (Ah Ooo Ah Ooo Ah Ooo)_**  
**_I want him in my clo-o-o-o-othes_**

Molly stops in her tracks, causing a posh-looking woman to walk right into her. Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks again, she wraps the long scarf around herself once more.

_Surely, that's just a coincidence. Don't be silly Molly. Practically every song ever written is about love in one way or another._

She flips to another track and tries to think about something other than Sherlock. After a few minutes, the chorus of the new song catches her ear.

**_(Think about you)_**  
**_And the love that we never made_**  
**_(Dream about you)_**  
**_Oh the things you said to me_**  
**_(I wanna go out with you)_**

_OK. My music player is taunting me. I may be losing my mind._

She turns off the music and continues her journey in silence, avoiding the gaze of any passersby.

At home, she peels off her clothes as soon as the door locks behind her. Sitting on the couch in her bra and panties, she stares at the wall in an effort to stop her mind from racing.

She has taken to lounging around in her undergarments lately, in an effort to become more comfortable with herself. It hasn't worked yet, but at least there's no one around to complain. Perhaps the only upside to living alone.

After a few minutes Toby, hops onto her lap and tries to look adorable. The universal cat gesture for: "Oh hey, you're home. That's nice. Come look at my food dish. It's empty."

Still deep in thought, Molly scratches the cat behind his ear.

Toby, being a sensitive cat, can tell that there is something wrong with his human. He responds by mewing loudly, pawing at her shoulder, and rubbing his face against hers. This translates from Cat as: "You have a problem. That is sad. I have a problem too. My empty food dish. Now hurry up."

Eventually these feline ministrations bring Molly back to reality and she strolls into the kitchen to feed Toby. Without thinking, she pours herself a glass of red wine and takes a sip. For a few minutes silence descends on to the apartment, occasionally punctuated by Toby's contented munching or a distant police siren.

Molly puts down the empty wine glass and considers a refill. Deciding against it, she heads into the bathroom and prepares for a desperately needed shower.

Wrapped in her fuzzy bath robe, with her hair in a towel, Molly returns to the living room. She gathers her work clothes and puts them in the hamper in the hall. After a few more small chores, she settles down in front of the tele with some left over Indian food and the rest of the wine. After the second re-run of QI, she heads off to bed, the red wine lulling her into a deep, muzzy, dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hello again! After reading some reviews, it seems that some people find Molly's actions pitiful. I thoroughly disagree. I think she's just trying to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine. He uses her to get what he wants every time he walks into the lab. Why shouldn't Molly receive something in return? Hope this chapter clears things up a bit. As always, thanks for reading!**_

The next morning, Molly wakes up to the screech of her alarm. She dresses, makes porridge, and prepares for another day at the lab. All seems right with the world until she passes the clothes hamper in the hallway and sees a shirt sleeve hanging out from under the lid. A wave of recollection overtakes her and she feels her heart sink through the floor.

_Oh God. Did I really do that? Did I really blackmail Sherlock into kissing me? Oh no._

For a moment she considers calling in sick to work, and laying in bed all day waiting to die of embarrassment. Then a voice in her head pipes up:

_Really Molly. Get over it. It was one little kiss, not a big deal. Besides, he's Sherlock Holmes. Since when does anyone make him do something he doesn't want to?_

_He _didn't_ want to kiss me._

_But he did it anyway. That's got to count for something._

After a few more minutes arguing with herself, she's convinced that Sherlock may not have wanted to kiss her. But he did care enough to pretend, if just for a moment, that he was human. Which, considering the dynamic of their friendship (if one could even call it that), is progress.

Molly walks into the lab, drops her bag in a desk chair and leafs through her caseload for the day. Two bodies for autopsy, and seventeen specimens for various tests. Not a heavy workload, but enough to keep her busy.

The morning goes by fairly quickly. She has one body and five tests finished by noon, and can easily finish the rest after lunch. Molly grabs her wallet and heads toward the double doors, only to walk directly into everyone's favorite detective.

"Ah. Molly. Just the woman I'm looking for. I could really use your help."

Before she can say a word, Sherlock grabs her by both arms and pulls her in for a rough kiss. His tongue traces her lips and proceeds deeper to massage her tongue. Pulling back, he lightly bites her lower lip, followed by a light peck on her left cheek.

"Will that be enough? I really am in a bit of a hurry."

"Wh-what?"

"I need you to help me Molly. That John Doe from last week; he's not been sent to the crematoria yet, has he? I need to find out how long it takes to remove a human foot with just a handsaw. The whole case depends on it."

"You just - and then you - and now you - " Molly stops for a moment, to allow her brain to catch up with reality.

"Yes. I kissed you." says an exasperated Sherlock. "Because you told me yesterday that if I wanted your help, you wanted something in return. I was hoping to get it out of the way and speed up the process because, as I mentioned a moment ago, I'm in quite a hurry."

"OK." replies a stunned Molly.

"OK, what? Really now Molly, can I take off the John Doe's foot, or not."

"Um. Sure. I guess. Did you need anything else?" she says, trying to shake herself into the present.

"Not unless the test results are in from yesterday."

"I'll check. He's in number four. There's a saw over -"

"Brought my own." he says, holding up a two foot long handsaw.

Molly wanders off toward her desk to see if the night shift finished the reports for Sherlock's tests. When she finds the folder, she heads over to help the detective set John Doe out on the slab. Still rather bewildered, she pulls herself together enough to insist that Sherlock remove his coat and don and apron and mask as removing body parts, even from a cold corpse is messy business. After five minutes of frantic sawing, he is barely halfway through the limb. Three minutes later, he gives up entirely.

"Well. That should settle it. It's quite impossible to take off a foot in two minutes with a simple handsaw. Thank you for your help Molly. Do we have results for the rest of yesterday's tests?"

Molly wordlessly hands him a manilla folder. He opens it and scans the contents.

"Brilliant! Absolutely bloody brilliant! Molly Hooper, you are a godsend."

At this he kisses her cheek again and heads for the door. Stopping a few feet away when he realizes that he's forgotten to remove the apron and grab his coat. After making the switch, he's gone; leaving Molly to take care of John Doe and his partially amputated foot. With a sigh, she returns him to bin number four and gets back to work. Somehow, after watching Sherlock work, she's lost her appetite.


End file.
